


driving me crazy (but i'm into it)

by fullybackfired



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Coming of Age, Developing Relationship, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Unresolved Sexual Tension, u bet ur bottom i'm stringing this out for three or four chapters, until the bitter end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-06-09 13:58:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15268959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullybackfired/pseuds/fullybackfired
Summary: Hajime knew that he wasn’t the only one who got himself off.  He wasn’t oblivious.  It was some unspoken truth that everybody did it but nobody talked about it.  Most importantly, nobody did it while someone else wasright there in the same room.Or, in which Hajime questions the boundaries of his friendship with Tooru.





	1. junior high

**Author's Note:**

> heads up: although there is no actual sexual contact between the characters in chapter one (let alone dialogue lmao), the boys are both 15 years old. the following chapters will cover sequential years in high school (ages 16-18).
> 
> title from "kiwi" by harry styles

 

It was the hottest night of the summer during his third year of junior high and Hajime couldn’t sleep.  His boxer shorts were plastered to his thighs, the fabric drenched in sweat despite the four fans that oscillated humid air around the room.  His mother had helped set them up earlier in the week, lamenting over their air conditioning system which had broken for the second year in a row.  One of the fans was propped up against the window so that it could blow hot air out of the house and into the night, but Hajime wasn’t entirely convinced it was working.  It couldn’t possibly be, he thought, not when he was feeling like this.  His skin, tacky and crawling with discomfort like it had a mind of its own, was impossible to touch without grimacing – he kept shifting his legs into different positions to try and alleviate as much contact between them as possible, but he couldn’t find anything comfortable and there was no way he could sleep if he spread out like a starfish.  He _had_ to lie curled up on his side, just like he was; he’d never been able to do it any other way.

Tooru didn’t seem to have the same problem from where he was passed out face-down on the guest futon.  His gangly limbs were flung out as far as they could reach, bare back shiny with sweat and shoulders scattered with freckles from the sun.  Tooru hated his freckles, but Hajime wouldn’t dare tell him they were actually kind of cool-looking.  His best friend didn’t need to hear any more compliments about his appearance; the girls at school were already fawning all over him like he was something special instead of the gross 15 year old boy that he was.  Girls didn’t fawn over Hajime, but Hajime didn’t mind too much.  He thought maybe he was supposed to.

Scowling, Hajime flung himself over onto his other side so that he didn’t have to face Tooru’s futon.  He was too aggravated to think about someone else sleeping successfully when he knew his own efforts were hopeless.  He was especially disgruntled because Tooru couldn’t _stand_ the heat, or at the very least liked to bother Hajime about it with a passion; he hated being out in the sun for too long, he hated that the stores all ran out of popsicles because everyone else wanted to cool off too, and he especially hated when the humidity made his hair uncooperative.  Today, he’d complained from the moment he’d knocked on Hajime’s door in the morning to the moment he’d crawled into bed that night.  Hajime knew Tooru was exaggerating and that most of it was just to annoy him, but he was still pissed that after all that deliberate whining Tooru’d still managed to fall asleep first.  Bastard.  Why did he even bother agreeing to sleepovers anymore when Tooru’s presence was clearly bad for his health?

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Hajime closed his eyes and tried not to focus on the bead of sweat that slid down the crease of his knee and onto his damp sheets.  Instead, he let his mind drift from family to school to volleyball to the teacher he’d tripped in front of on Thursday during passing period, his eyebrows furrowing helplessly at the memory.

He’d just barely managed to push the embarrassing replay out of his head when he heard a low, muffled noise from the other side of the room where Tooru was laying.  Hajime couldn’t tell if Tooru’d said an actual word or not, but either way he sounded a little frustrated– maybe his friend wasn’t as comfortably asleep as Hajime’d assumed.  Served that idiot right.  When the room fell into silence once again, however, save for the soft whir of the fans, Hajime released an irritated puff of air out through his nostrils and squeezed his eyes shut even tighter as if the action alone could push him into unconsciousness. 

Useless.  All it did was make him angrier.

Deliberately relaxing his eyelids first, Hajime then released the tension in the rest of his face muscles and began counting backwards from 500.  Maybe he could _bore_ himself to sleep instead.  He gradually slowed his breathing as he counted, thinking that maybe he could trick his body into restfulness too – that was a thing, right?  Breathing exercises or something?  He’d heard his mom talk about them sometimes when she was trying to meditate, and hey, he was already down to 415 and hadn’t thought about the pool of sweat in his bellybutton more than twice so maybe it was working and—

Hajime nearly flinched in surprise when another sound came from across the room.  This time it was a soft rasp of sheets in addition to the same weird, muffled noise from before.  _Fucking Tooru_ , he thought, clenching his teeth against the exhausted rage that bubbled up high in his chest, _fucking Tooru and his restless legs and his sleep-talking_.  Hajime had _almost gotten there_ , he’d been _so damn close_ , and—

The sounds came again, a little bit louder this time, and it dawned on Hajime that it didn’t really sound like Tooru was adjusting in his sleep.  His sleep talking wasn’t usually so…restrained, either, if that’s what this was; Hajime could almost always make out a word or two, probably because Tooru slept with his mouth open like an ugly fish. 

Ears straining out of curiosity, Hajime tried his best to determine whether Tooru really was sleeping fitfully or whether he was awake and being obnoxious on purpose.  He wouldn’t want to call Tooru out on an assumption, but if the latter was the case then he was fully prepared to kick his friend back over to his own damn house so Hajime could sweat in peace.  The illogical thought that Tooru might be keeping him up as a joke distracted him enough that when the muffled sounds gave way to a strangled gasp, high and breathy and clear as fucking day, Hajime immediately snapped his eyes open in the dark.  He stared wide and unblinking at the wall in front of him, the calendar there just barely visible thanks to the moonlight streaming through the open window. 

He held his breath in the subsequent silence, eyes shifting aimlessly around the room even though he couldn’t really see anything.  There was a distinct lack of any further noise from Tooru’s side of the room, but an odd, inexplicable tension permeated the humid air.

The stillness was unbearable, and Hajime wasn’t sure _why_ but he was sweating even more now.  Heavily.  His palms were clammier than he thought possible, the dampness disgusting between his fingers where they were clenched tight into fists.  It took a solid three seconds before Hajime remembered that breathing was a necessity, and that if he curled his hands any tighter he’d leave painful fingernail marks on his palms.  He exhaled as quietly as possible, forcing the tension to drain from his body once again.  He was especially careful not to shift his legs or arms or anything else that might give away his state of consciousness.  Hajime wasn’t exactly sure why he didn’t want Tooru to know that he was awake, especially when Hajime still wasn’t sure if Tooru himself was, but he really, really didn’t.  His friend was probably just having a vivid dream, but that explanation didn’t do anything to change the fact that Hajime’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth, or that there was a funny uneasiness in his gut.  The feeling intensified when out of the silence came another noise – quieter than the last, softer, but still as distinct.

Hajime bit his lower lip, gears in his head struggling to fit together as a third gasp tapered off into a soft, desperate whine that made all the hair on Hajime’s forearms stand straight up and a wave of heat crash into his gut.  Tooru’s breathing had become very, very audible over the fans and (if Hajime could admit it to himself) very, very telling.  

He blinked.  There was no way.  Absolutely no way.  Tooru was a guest in Hajime’s house, and sure he practically lived here too but that didn’t mean that he could just—

_“H-hah.”_

Well, fuck.  Hajime squeezed his eyes back shut, his teeth slowly releasing his lip where it had started to ache.  He didn’t move.  _Couldn’t_ move, unless he wanted Tooru to know that Hajime could hear him doing… _that_.  It took just about everything he had to keep from fidgeting, from breathing too loudly or—god forbid— _saying something out loud_.  What words would even make sense?  ‘Oh hey, Oikawa, can you maybe try _not_ masturbating in my guest futon?’

His brain tripped hard over the word ‘masturbating’.  Even privately acknowledging that that was what Tooru might be doing (in Hajime’s _bedroom_ , with Hajime _right fucking there_ ) made his face heat up faster than should have been physiologically possible.  Getting yourself off wasn’t something that people talked about.  No one brought it up in school, really, except sometimes as a joke, and it definitely wasn’t anything his parents had tacked on to the vague sex talk they’d given him when he’d turned 13.  Hajime wasn’t oblivious.  He knew that he wasn’t the only one who jerked off.  He couldn’t _possibly_ be.  It was some unspoken truth that everybody did it but nobody talked about it and certainly no one did it while _someone else was right there in the same room_.

As if to purposefully spite Hajime’s internal monologue, Tooru seemed to grow more careless.  His breath came faster and harsher, so fucking loud over the fans, and every once in while he’d let out one of those terrible noises.  A choked gasp, sometimes, or a whine that Hajime knew had to come from between clenched teeth.  His own teeth were ground together so hard that his right temple was starting to pound in rebellion, his fingers curling desperately into the bottom sheet.  If Tooru was trying to be discrete about this, then he wasn’t doing a good job.  Hajime could hear everything now – every rhythmic shift of skin against fabric, the occasional slide of the futon against the wood floor, the growing desperation in the sounds that were spilling out of Tooru’s mouth. 

Hajime had never thought about how other boys masturbated before.  He’d never thought about _anyone_ else masturbating before, because why would he?  It was almost like realizing that your parents had to have sex in order to have _you_.  Did everyone do it the same way?  Was Tooru still lying belly-down, maybe with a hand pushed underneath his body?  Or had he rolled over onto his side or back instead?  Hajime’s thighs clenched without his permission at the thought, an automatic reaction to the heat that was still pooling in his groin.  Dammit.

_It wasn’t fair_ , he thought desperately, curling his toes and doing his best to concentrate on how gross and obnoxious Tooru was, it wasn’t fair that his friend was—was touching himself like that when he knew Hajime was right there.  Sure, he probably assumed that Hajime was fast asleep, but that didn’t make it _okay_.  What if Hajime changed position?  What if he acted like he’d just woken up and asked what Tooru was doing?  Would Tooru say something, or would he pretend to be asleep?  Hajime guessed that Tooru would laugh it off and accuse Hajime of having dirty dreams about him or something.  That seemed about right.

Tooru must have picked up the pace again according to his breathing.  Hajime never really made any noise when he was jerking off, but his body was still responding to every single one of Tooru’s if they were his own sense memories.  With growing horror, Hajime realized that his dick, pressed against his left thigh and just as disgustingly damp as the rest of him, was almost fully hard in what _must_ have been sympathy.  He wanted to reach down and grab it—squeeze hard enough to hurt in the hopes that it might turn him off—but he couldn’t.  He couldn’t do anything.  Instead, he tried to focus on how this was decidedly not something that should be affecting him like it was.  His best friend jerking off in the same room should have been gross and weird, and it was.  _It_ _was_.  It had to be.

Finally, just as Hajime was sure that he was going to self-combust from equal parts shame and irritation, Tooru’s breath caught.  There was a brief moment of anticipatory silence, a weightlessness akin to the moment that a volleyball hovered at its peak height after an expert set, before Tooru completely let go of anything he’d been holding back.  He moaned, actually _moaned_ like something Hajime’d only heard in porn, and it was probably louder than Tooru’d intended if the audible slap of a hand over a mouth was any indication.  It was maybe the dirtiest thing Hajime’d heard in his entire life.  Tooru had to have come.  He had to.  Hajime’s own dick twitched against his thigh and he tried not to make a helpless sound of his own in response, his breath picking up in panic.  Fuck.  He was so hard.  Way, way harder than he should have been, which was _not at fucking all_.  All he wanted to do was get a hand on his dick.  Instead, he wrangled his breathing back into a rhythm closer to what it should have been if he were asleep.  He didn’t dare move.  Not now, not when Tooru had—had probably finished.  He wouldn’t be as distracted anymore, if he had.  He’d notice if Hajime was awake. 

Swallowing thickly, Hajime did his best to appear relaxed.  He didn’t think he’d given himself away at any point, but he couldn’t be positive.  Tooru was too damn observant for his own good.

Silence.  After a minute, he could hear Tooru flopping over into a different position and letting out a content sigh.  Hajime bit the inside of his cheek.  Tooru had definitely finished, which meant—which meant that he’d _finished_.  In Hajime’s _guest futon_.  Had he just kept everything in his underwear?  He must have, Hajime assured himself, and he must have decided it was worth it even though he’d have to sleep like that.  Sticky.  He must have really wanted it.  That thought didn’t do much to help Hajime’s situation, which was very much still a situation.  Luckily, Tooru seemed to have settled down for real.  Hajime listened carefully as his breathing evened out, eventually calming from post-orgasm panting into something smooth and steady.

_Fuck_.  Of course Tooru would still be the first to fall asleep after all that.  Slowly, silently, he slid his left hand down from where it was curled near his stomach until he could press it against the base of his dick.  It didn’t really help anything, but at least it satisfied the irresistible urge to touch himself.  Not that he could do anything more than that.  Not that he _wanted_ to, because he _didn’t_.  Not even a little bit.  Instead, he brought back the vivid memory of tripping at school that he’d tried to ignore earlier.  He focused on it as much as possible through a wave of sudden exhaustion, simultaneously picking up his backwards counting from where he’d left off before.  It was near 172 or 171—as Hajime found comfort in reliving minor public embarrassment for the very first (and almost definitely the last) time—that he somehow, unbelievably, fell asleep.


	2. first year

 

You don’t tend to forget something like your best friend jerking off in the same room as you.  It wasn’t for lack of trying, though, because Hajime _had_ tried.  Really, really tried.  He’d tried from the moment he woke up the morning after it happened, and he was still trying a year and a half later. 

He’d probably die trying at the rate he was going.

Still, even though Hajime never really forgot, the memory of his own sweaty thighs and Tooru’s unsteady breathing and those stupid, useless fans eventually faded deep into the background of his daily consciousness.  He rarely thought of it at all now, and when he did it was only with a passing sentiment of heat and embarrassment that he could brush off easily enough.  Well.  So long as Tooru wasn’t actually there when he thought of it, which unfortunately was almost never the case.  Tooru was always there, just as he’d always been before.  Hajime hadn’t really recognized just how much of his life was spent with Tooru until he was forced to see him in a way that didn’t involve scraped knees or long bike rides or video games.  Until he thought of Tooru as someone who did the same things in the dark as Hajime did.

It had taken him almost a full week to get over it at the time.

He’d woken up first that next morning.  Hajime didn’t remember a whole lot of the aftermath, especially since it’d been over a year since it happened, but he remembered that.  He remembered peeling himself out of bed, near-sprinting to the bathroom, and taking the coldest shower of his life.  It had been effective at both rinsing away the tacky layers of sweat that coated his body like a second skin as well as suppressing any physical reaction that may have been triggered by the unavoidable recollection of the night previous.  Hajime hadn’t wanted to know whether there would have been one had it not been preemptively shut down.

He’d gotten some soap in his eye.  He remembered that too.

What he _didn’t_ remember was any actual interaction with Tooru that morning.  They must have talked.  They must have had breakfast, must have watched a movie or gone for a jog or done something, anything at all, but Hajime couldn’t say what it was.  He’d probably been too busy not looking Tooru in the eye or pretending like everything was normal.  Like he didn’t know what Tooru sounded like when he came.

He wished he remembered now.  How he’d dealt with it right afterwards, he meant.  Now that he’d have to do it all a-fucking-gain.

Hajime narrowed his eyes in the darkness.  He was fully cocooned in blankets this time at least, two layers of thick fabric that provided some kind of pseudo-barrier between himself and his idiotic best friend.  His idiotic best friend who really, really had to work on his impulse control, and a pseudo-barrier that was very much needed considering they were close enough for Hajime to stretch out and whack Tooru in the face.  Which, with every passing second, sounded like a better and better idea.

Tooru moaned softly in the quiet room.  Hajime bared his teeth.

Wasn’t this something you’d _maybe not_ have a second go at in life?  Hadn’t Tooru been embarrassed enough before?  Hadn’t he been worried that Hajime’d heard him?  Hadn’t he regretted it?

Clearly not.  Hajime could hear every shaky breath in exquisite detail.  He was taking longer than Hajime remembered from the first time, maybe because he wasn’t as desperate or as hurried (or, Hajime’s brain unhelpfully suggested, maybe because he wasn’t as sensitive anymore now that they were almost 17).

It was Tooru’s own house, not Hajime’s this time ( _this time!_ ), and they were both curled up on separate futons on the floor of the Oikawa guestroom.  Matsukawa and Hanamaki were passed out cold upstairs, sleeping in Tooru’s bedroom at Tooru’s mother’s insistence (and Tooru’s own, highly vocal despair).  That wasn’t all that was different from junior high, though.  Hajime wasn’t particularly shocked, for one, and he also wasn’t sweating off his entire bodyweight with every passing second.  That meant he had plenty more room for anger.

He really, really didn’t want to wait it out again.  It’d been excruciating the first time around.  His dick was already starting to take notice, something that he was rather keen on ignoring and ultimately discontinuing, but in order to take care of that he couldn’t let things drag out any longer.

He made a decision.

He counted to 10, closed his eyes, steadied himself as best he could, and spoke in as stern of a voice as he could manage.

“ _Oikawa_.  Go to bed.”

Tooru choked.

The resulting silence was louder than any sound Tooru’d made that night.  There wasn’t even a whisper of sheets against skin, meaning that Tooru was probably frozen in place.  Fucking served him right.

“Iwa-chan?” he whispered after a good 15 seconds in which Hajime yo-yoed back and forth between mortification and vindictive satisfaction.  His voice sounded strained.  Hajime huffed.

“Seriously.  I can’t sleep over here.”

More silence.  Hajime’s embarrassment must have partially transmitted to Tooru, because he was starting to enter a strange, resigned calm.  He had the upper hand now.

“I—what?  I wasn’t—what are you talking about—”

Hajime actually barked out a laugh.  This was hands-down the most absurd moment of his life.  Taking a massive risk, he adjusted his blankets noisily and then turned over to face Tooru.  He did it with enough candor that Tooru would have had plenty of time to reconfigure himself into something bordering on acceptable. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said disbelievingly, opening his eyes to find Tooru staring right back at him.  He was curled towards Hajime, blankets pulled up to his chin and wide eyes shining with panic.  Hajime couldn’t see much – the only light came from under the door that lead out to the hallway where it was bright enough for Hanamaki and Matsukawa to find their way to the bathroom in the middle of the night if needed – but it was enough.  Enough to tell that Tooru was flushed, and enough to see the shock that Tooru was doing his best to cover up second by second.

Turning over had been a mistake.  Tooru was gnawing at the inside of his bottom lip.

“No really!  I mean—I mean—”

Hajime didn’t think he’d ever heard Tooru falter like that.  Tooru _never_ faltered like that. 

“Oikawa.  I swear to god, just shut up.” 

And that should have been that.  It was the moment in which Hajime could have shut up himself, curled his blankets tighter around himself, and tried to go to sleep.  He could have left it there.

He didn’t.

For some inconceivable reason that Hajime would not and could not dwell on, he instead continued and said, “I don’t care, dumbass, finish up.  Just try not to be so goddamn loud.”

His strange calm from moments before shattered immediately into overwhelming humiliation.  That had absolutely not been a firm ‘I know what you were doing and you better stop it before I hit you’.  That had absolutely not been anything that Tooru could interpret as ‘Don’t you dare do this again, moron’.

Tooru looked at him like he’d grown a second head.  It was the correct response.  If Hajime could magic himself out of his own body like people sometimes said happened during a near-death experience, his ghostly ass would look at his poor meatsuit like he’d grown a second head too.  There was no explanation for how he’d replied.  None that made sense, anyway.

“Um, really?”

Well.  No backing out now.  “Yeah.  Whatever.  Just…whatever.”  Eloquent.  He knew his face was probably bright red, but hopefully it wasn’t too obvious in the dark.  Hopefully Tooru was just as embarrassed as he was and wouldn’t try and call him out on it.

“ _Now?_   Right now?”

Hajime was sweating.  He couldn’t make eye contact with Tooru anymore and instead looked up at the ceiling in a way that he hoped looked nonchalant.  As if this wasn’t a big deal.  As if Hajime wasn’t absolutely losing it.

“Do whatever, okay?  I said I didn’t care.”

He sounded like a little kid again, mad at his parents.  He just hoped that Tooru didn’t think he was a freak.  If Hajime were him, he’d definitely think he was a freak. 

Instead of coming back with a biting quip about Hajime being a pervert, though, Tooru just blinked at him and licked his lips a little, eyes still wide and mind clearly working in overdrive to understand what was happening.  Hajime absolutely did not track the movement of his tongue.

“Oh.  Okay, Iwa-chan.  Sorry to wake you up.”

Hajime grumbled to himself and violently turned over in bed, tearing the blankets with him like _they_ were responsible for this and not himself.  As soon as his back was away from Tooru, he slammed his eyes shut in a silent snarl.  What the _fuck_ was he thinking.

All was silent for a full minute.  Hajime knew it had been exactly one full minute, because he’d counted each and every second with a heavy anticipation that tied his stomach up in knots.  Would Tooru do anything?  He probably wouldn’t; he was probably either asleep already or just lying there, back turned to Hajime’s as he thought about how his friend had essentially given him permission to keep jerking off.  Even though Hajime was right there.  Even though Hajime knew what was happening.

Shit.  Tooru was going to think he was…that he wanted something.  That maybe he wanted that something with Tooru, even though Hajime _didn’t_ —

Hajime didn’t.

Another 30 seconds.  Hajime was starting to relax, just the tiniest bit, little by little.  It had been long enough that if Tooru was going to continue he would have already.  He supposed that maybe Tooru actually _had_ , but this time was being as quiet as possible like any other person would do in the same situation.  (Well, any other person whose dick didn’t immediately go limp when they realized someone called them out on masturbating, which was probably the most likely reaction to such a thing.)

Close to another 30 seconds.  That would make two minutes.  Even though it was a completely arbitrary cutoff, Hajime felt that he could move on if nothing happened in that time.  He could pretend like nothing had ever happened _at all_.  Like he hadn’t just told Tooru that it was fine if he kept touching himself.  Like he wasn’t starting to question why he didn’t mind if Tooru did.  Hajime hadn’t lied.  He didn’t mind. 

Why the _fuck_ didn’t he mind.  He’d been _angry_ before.

Just a few seconds after the two minute mark, just as Hajime began to worry about how he’d be able to act indifferent about this the next morning, Tooru’s breath audibly hitched.  Hajime’s brain nearly suffered whiplash from the force in which he was drawn out of his own thoughts and into hyper-awareness.  He tensed automatically when Tooru inhaled shakily after a brief pause, his fingers twitching under the pillow where he’d stuffed them.  Tooru’s next exhale was colored with a soft moan that was so quiet Hajime was surprised he’d even heard it.

He was doing it.  He had to be.

He was touching himself again.

Hajime swallowed heavily.  Maybe Tooru’d waited for a couple of minutes just to make sure Hajime had fallen asleep again, which was a perfectly reasonable thing to do (or at least as reasonable as anything considering their situation), but which also made Hajime feel extraordinarily guilty.  Tooru wouldn’t want him to hear if that was the case.  He _couldn’t_ want Hajime to hear.  That’d be creepy.  It was _definitely_ creepy, and even though Tooru was the one who had started this whole thing to begin with maybe Hajime _was_ a pervert and—

“Iwa-chan?” Tooru asked, voice shaky and softened to a whisper even as it drove a wedge into Hajime’s line of thought.  Hajime had never heard Tooru say his name like that; he’d never heard _anyone_ say his name like that.  Tooru probably had a hand on himself as he spoke.  He was probably—

Hajime just barely managed to keep an involuntary sound from spilling out and into the dark.

He had two options.  He could pretend like he hadn’t heard anything, in which case Tooru would assume he was actually asleep this time.  That meant Hajime would have to lie there and pretend like he _couldn’t_ hear Tooru, which he knew would be practically impossible and so would ultimately leave him wallowing in guilt.  Or.  Or, he could respond. 

His tongue was plastered to the roof of his mouth.  He had to lick his lips before he could speak at all.

“Yeah?” he answered back, voice just as soft as Tooru’s but as gruff as he could make it.  He didn’t really succeed if he was being completely honest with himself.

Tooru’s breath caught again.

“You’re sure I can—”

“ _It’s fine_.”

Two beats of silence.

“Okay. Okay, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime was dying.  He was sure of it.  He was so hot that he almost felt like he was back in the humid heart of summer, like it was the year before and Tooru was sleeping on the guest futon in his bedroom as oscillating fans dried out his eyes.  This time, though, it was worse.  This time Hajime had allowed it to happen.  This time, he couldn’t use surprise as an excuse for the way he was getting hard underneath the blankets.

Tooru kept quiet, true to Hajime’s insistence, but it didn’t matter.  Hajime knew what he was doing, and so every tiny noise or change in breathing sounded as loud as an orchestra tuning in a great concert hall.  Every once in a while he’d inhale – tight and quick and almost pained – and each time Hajime would bite down on his tongue hard enough to hurt.  He wanted to touch himself.  He wanted to get a hand on his dick, just like he’d wanted a year ago, except this time he _really_ couldn’t because—

Because.  Because it was different now.  Because Hajime had basically told him to do it.

Why was it so different from 10 minutes ago?  Why wasn’t he angry anymore?

“Iwa-chan?” Tooru’s voice came again, slightly louder than the last time but infinitely more unsteady.  Hajime hadn’t been expecting him to say anything else, and so was completely unprepared for the way that the sound of his name falling from Tooru’s mouth went straight to his groin.  That wasn’t supposed to happen.  That really, really wasn’t supposed to happen.

_You did this_ , he chastised himself.  _You wanted this._

“What,” he ground out, voice as desperate as he felt.                   

“You can—it’s okay,” Tooru gasped out, pitched in a way that made Hajime inhale harshly, “You can too.  If you want.”  He smacked his lips together softly.  “You can too.”

“Why would I—” Hajime started, voice almost at a wail before cutting off abruptly as he gripped the sheets so hard his knuckles creaked.  “Why would I—”

“I don’t mind.”  Tooru’s voice was hurried, words jumping out before Hajime could stumble any further.

Hajime didn’t respond.  How was he supposed to?  Tooru didn’t _mind_?  But it didn’t matter.  He was so fucking hard now, and if Tooru didn’t mind, then he—then he could do it too.  Tooru said it was okay.

And so he did.

Still curled up into himself with his back to Tooru, who was getting noisier and more distracting by the second, Hajime slid a hand inside his shorts.  This was what he’d wanted the very first time.  He’d wanted it so bad, and this time he could give in.  Eyes shut tight, he danced fingers across his cockhead before smoothing them down to the base and cradling himself there.  It was too much.  He had to pause, breathing heavily, while Tooru choked out another one of those sounds that made Hajime a little dizzy.

He breathed deeply for a few counts.  He didn’t want to lose his head more than he already had, but Tooru _really_ wasn’t helping with that, and so finally he gripped himself a little tighter and stroked from root to tip.  He immediately let out a whine that he’d deny well past his deathbed. 

Tooru moaned in response.  “Are you?” he gasped out, voice raw, “Are you?”

Hajime couldn’t answer.  He couldn’t.

“Hajime—” Tooru pushed, urgent.  “ _Are you?_ ”

“Fuck,” he snapped, hand sliding smoothly with how much he was starting to leak.  “Shut _up_.”

“You are, you are, you—Iwa-chan,” his friend babbled, voice rising in octave with each repetition.  He sounded close.  Hajime had never imagined a world in which he’d know something like that about Tooru.  He hadn’t imagined _any_ of this.

He squeezed himself tighter, punishingly so, and picked up his pace to something verging on breakneck.  He didn’t want to last long, _because this wasn’t supposed to be happening_.

And he wasn’t going to.  Not when he couldn’t stop thinking about how close Tooru was.  Just a few meaningless feet.  Close enough that Hajime could turn around and see him again, see his face, because the direction of Tooru’s voice meant that he couldn’t be turned away from Hajime.  He was either on his back or directly facing him still, and the idea of that was too much.  Hajime hadn’t really thought about what Tooru would look like back in junior high.  He’d been too busy trying to figure out what was happening to think about what he might look like when he was touching himself.  What kind of expression he’d make.  Would he look just as desperate as he sounded?

Hajime couldn’t stop the high sound that fought its way out through his teeth.  Tooru immediately mirrored the noise again, a near-whine accompanied by the haphazard shifting of sheets and blankets. 

_Shit shit shit_ , Hajime thought, hips jerking erratically, had Tooru flung them off himself?  Was he just lying there, hand on his dick?  Looking at Hajime?  Hajime could turn over.  He could see.  He could—

He couldn’t do anything, because all of a sudden he was coming so hard his foot cramped from the force of curling his toes.  Cursing, he flexed it as he spilled into his hand.

“Did you— _did you just—_ ,” Tooru practically yelled, voice not so shaky anymore; instead it was something oddly excited, something almost thrilled.  Hajime turned his burning face into his pillow.  He was losing it.  He curled his dirty hand into a fist and the feeling of lukewarm come made him want to vomit.

“I said _shut up_.”

Hajime hadn’t known it was possible to be so aroused and so confused at the same time.  He lay there, panting harshly, as Tooru finally came with a long, low moan that made Hajime’s over-sensitive dick twitch without his permission.

Hajime wasn’t sure how long they both laid there.  They were both breathing so hard it was almost ridiculous, and Hajime was close to either laughing or yelling.  He wasn’t sure which.  Maybe both, maybe at the same time.

Tooru, thank _fuck_ , was quiet.  Hajime didn’t want to talk about it.  He didn’t want to talk about it at all, because he didn’t understand it.

This wasn’t something he was used to.  Well, he supposed that no one could be used to whatever had just happened, but that didn’t make it any easier.  Hajime had thought that after last year he wouldn’t have to think about it again.  That he wouldn’t have to think about Tooru like this again.  That he wouldn’t have to think about _himself_ like this again.

He didn’t get much sleep that night.


	3. second year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i sat down tonight intending to squeeze out a paragraph or two and instead finished the entire chapter. sorry about the wait on this one and thank you to all those leaving kudos/comments!! you are my motivation!

 

Hajime didn’t have the mental energy for this.  He was exhausted, legs already sore and heavy from spiking and receiving drills despite the fact that they were only halfway through the week.  Training camp had always made him feel like he’d been hit by a bus, though.  It was nothing new.  That wasn’t to say he didn’t like the feeling, of course – there was something incredibly satisfying about having a physical token of remembrance for his efforts.  A badge of some sort.  Something to tell him that everything would be worth the effort in the end, that he was getting stronger and faster and better by the minute and that his second year of senior high school might be the year that he and Tooru and the rest of their team finally took down Shiratorizawa.  That they might play their best together and _win_.

The point was this:  Hajime was tired.  He was sore.  He came to training camp that spring, just like he always did, with the goal of improving his individual skills as well as bonding with his teammates.  He came to training camp to work hard, play hard, and sleep even harder, only to do it all again the next day.  What he _wasn’t_ there for was to wake up in the middle of the night from a swift kick to the shin.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he cursed through his teeth, clutching at his injured leg with both hands.  He was considerate enough to keep his voice down so as not to wake anyone nearby.  The room they were staying in for the week was relatively small, enough so that only about half of the team could fit and the other half had to share a room next door.  Hajime didn’t need to guess which one of them was to blame, though.

Groaning in pain – it had been a _strong_ kick, okay, and he was sore there in the first place – Hajime cracked open his eyes to confront his attacker.  It took several moments for his vision to adjust to the darkness, his drowsiness making everything blurry and leaving him a bit disoriented.  Eventually, though, the lines of his own body and cheap futon came into focus.  Moonlight streamed in through an open window and illuminated the dust that gathered on the floor next to where his hands were gripping at his shin.

Snapping his head up from his mortal wound to peer out at the space across from him, Hajime already had a scowl prepared for when his eyes made direct contact with Tooru’s.  His friend’s face was configured in a clear ‘oh shit’ expression.

“Are you fucking kidding me, you absolute dickhead,” Hajime whispered angrily, nearly spitting with the force of his fury.  He’d _finally_ been asleep after a long day of busting his ass, goddammit, and he wasn’t about to let Tooru get away with waking him up.  Hajime didn’t _care_ if his friend was a restless sleeper sometimes and probably hadn’t meant it; he could already tell his shin was going to bruise.

Tooru didn’t even have the decency to look away out of guilt, eyes still meeting Hajime’s own from where he was lying on his thin futon, less than a foot away from Hajime’s thanks to the smallness of the room and Tooru’s complete disregard for personal space.  His expression wavered back and forth between mild horror and a ‘who, me?’ innocence that made Hajime’s blood boil.

“Sorry, Iwa-chan,” Tooru whispered back, his face having settled into an uneasy grin that was a bit crooked at the edges.  He clutched his blanket tight up against his throat with both hands like the protagonist in a horror movie might clutch her towel after being surprised by a murderous clown post-shower.  His fingers were worked tight into the fabric, knuckles straining a bit with the force.

Interesting.

Hajime immediately became suspicious.  He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward just a bit.

Tooru recoiled.

Smelling a rat, Hajime moved in for the kill and scooted forward as swiftly as he could before his friend could make an escape attempt.  He curled in until he was able to scrutinize Tooru’s expression more thoroughly, eyes shifting rapidly between Tooru’s own.  The moonlight shining down from the window behind them formed odd angles over the planes of his friend’s face, dark eyelashes casting long shadows against his cheeks.  Tooru tensed up even further, perhaps at their new proximity.  Huh.  That was out of character.

Hajime’s eyebrows furrowed even further.

“What was all that about, huh?” Hajime questioned lowly, quiet but still firm and accusatory.  He tacked on a “And don’t tell me you kicked me in your sleep when you’re obviously wide awake,” immediately afterwards when Tooru parted his lips to say something.  Closing his mouth again, Tooru blinked a few times and tried to shrug it off, relaxing his hold on his blanket and giving Hajime a flimsy smile. 

A _bullshit_ smile.  He was definitely hiding something.

Had he been up watching old matches on his phone?  Scrutinizing Ushijima’s every move?  A possible explanation; Tooru knew Hajime would berate him if he was exhausted the next day during practice.  Maybe he’d changed positions out of frustration without thinking about his surroundings.

“I didn’t actually mean to kick you, Iwa-chan – don’t look so sour – I just can’t find a comfortable position.”

Hajime’s scowl twitched.

“Don’t be mad!” Tooru pleaded, “I need you to be at your best tomorrow!  I’ll settle down, I promise.”

The thing was, Hajime trusted Tooru implicitly on the court.  Their plays were usually seamless, they could always seem to communicate their next move without actually talking about it out loud, and nothing felt better than connecting with one of Tooru’s sets when they were in a world of their own making.

None of that meant Hajime trusted Tooru’s _words_ unconditionally, though, and he certainly didn’t trust Tooru at night anymore.  In the dark.  Next to Hajime.  Not like this.  Not when Tooru was more rattled by Hajime’s scrutiny than he’d ever be if his only crime was watching volleyball reruns late into the night.  Not when Hajime had been half-expecting… _something_ to happen again now that it had before – now that it had before on _two separate occasions_ – even though the last time had been a year ago and they hadn’t acknowledged it since.  Even though Hajime had made it his duty in life to pretend it’d never happened at all.

(Not that he’d had any success in that endeavor.  Not only do you not tend to forget something like your best friend jerking off in the same room as you, you _especially_ didn’t forget when it happens twice.)

( _Twice_.)

How _wasn’t_ Hajime supposed to be suspicious?  He didn’t need to feel ashamed about questioning Tooru’s odd nervousness; it wasn’t his fault that his mind went there.  It wasn’t his fault that he thought about Tooru doing something like that again.

Well…except for how it kind of was, at least in terms of last year.  Not that Hajime’d admit that to anyone else.

He let his eyes drop from Tooru’s face.  They made their way cautiously from his long neck to his broad shoulders and down past his chest, his gaze finally settling on where he assumed Tooru’s hips would be beneath the bedding.  Hajime couldn’t actually see anything, of course, but when he snapped his eyes back up to shoot Tooru a skeptical look he found Tooru blushing spectacularly and clutching tightly to his blanket once more.

That fucker.  That _fucker_.

“I can’t believe you, you idiot!” he blurted out, far too loud, pointing an index finger at Tooru’s face like a teacher might when yelling at a disobedient student.  “You can’t be serious!  Here?  Now?!  Oikawa, you—”

Tooru’s eyes widened significantly, comically, in visible fractionations that would have made Hajime laugh in any other circumstance.  He dropped his blanket so that he could wave both hands in front of Hajime in a placating motion.  It didn’t have the desired effect, especially because now the only thing Hajime could think of was where those hands had _been_. 

“Shh!  Iwa-chan, not so loud!  I—I wasn’t—”

“ _Yes you were_.  Yes you were, you—”

They both froze when one of their teammates let out a particularly loud snore from across the room.  Probably Yahaba; he’d never confess to it if confronted, but that kid snored like a broken chainsaw. 

Shoulders stiffened up to their ears, they stared at each other in panic for several seconds before relaxing slowly once no other noises came.  The uneasy peace lasted for all of three seconds.

Hajime snapped.

“Oikawa, what the fuck.  _What the fuck_.”

Tooru bit at his lip a little, fingers moving restlessly as if he wanted to grasp at Hajime or at his blanket again.  He still looked off-kilter and like he might bolt if given the chance. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, finally, as if _none of this had happened before._

“Yes you fucking do,” Hajime almost shouted, voice quickly tapering to something softer as he re-remembered where they were.

Tooru broke eye contact, his gaze scanning the room thoroughly before meeting up with Hajime’s again.  He must have been satisfied with what he’d seen, because his face fell abruptly into a relaxed pout.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, sounding almost actually sorry.  Hajime felt his anger dim slightly at Tooru’s admission of guilt, his rage cooling from a rolling boil into something more lukewarm.  And then Tooru’s lips twitched.  Hajime braced himself; now that Hajime’d put him in a corner, Tooru would likely do his best to make Hajime wish he hadn’t pushed.

“How did Iwa-chan know?” he hummed, scooting a bit closer himself.  “Were you thinking about me doing that?”

It didn’t matter that he’d braced himself in the end.  Hajime blushed scarlet.

“No I fucking wasn’t, you moron,” he spat back, teeth grinding painfully.  “But what else was I supposed to assume?  It’s not like you’ve got a great track record at public decency.”

Tooru winced.  “Well, you said you didn’t mind last time!”

His voice was so soft that Hajime had to strain to hear him, but he almost wished he couldn’t hear him at all.  What was he supposed to say to that?  If he tried to object he’d just be lying. 

It was Hajime’s turn to look away.

“That was _once_ , and _we weren’t surrounded by half of the volleyball team_.”  A valid point, if he did say so himself, although he didn’t add ‘and I shouldn’t have said it in the first place’ like he was supposed to.  Like Tooru should have expected him to.

Tooru squirmed.  “I couldn’t help it,” he huffed after a moment, and Hajime looked back up at him.  They’d shifted until they were so close together that Hajime would only have to extend his arm to touch him.  Too close.

“What?  Of course you can help it,” he hissed, snappish, “You’re almost 17, and we’re in fucking public!”

“That’s not what I mean!” Tooru whined, which was absurd because he was clearly _missing the point_ and Hajime wasn’t about to let him think that this was all normal and –

“I mean I didn’t kick you on purpose!  I couldn’t help it!” he continued, shifting until Hajime swore he could feel breath on his face.  His heart stopped for a moment in his chest.  Tooru’s eyelids were drooping a little, his gaze growing heavy and soft as he looked at Hajime in the near-dark and it was making Hajime nervous.  “It just felt really good.”

Hajime’s mouth immediately went dry.  He could tell his expression must have been frozen into something that couldn’t be entirely explained away as shock.  Tooru ate it up, eyes flicking over his face as Hajime tried to melt into his futon entirely.  Oh no.  No no no no no –

“Oikawa,” he started, but had to pause and lick his lips when he found he couldn’t speak.  He had to pretend like he wasn’t getting sweaty just thinking about Tooru surprising himself with how good it felt to jerk off in some particular way, unable to control the muscles in his legs from twitching out of control. 

He tried again.  “Oikawa, why the hell would I want to know that.”

Tooru didn’t answer.  He just kept staring at Hajime, and Hajime knew he could tell that he was still blushing.  He hoped he at least had some semblance of annoyance on his face too; something other than the growing interest that he was trying to smother.  Tooru couldn’t know.  He couldn’t know that Hajime was thinking about things he shouldn’t.  You weren’t supposed to think about your best friend jerking off like Hajime was.

After what felt like at least two eternities had passed, Tooru shifted his arms back under his blanket with a smooth deliberation.  The fabric was pooled around his torso loosely, not drawn up to his neck like it’d been when Hajime’d first chastised him over the kick.  Hajime couldn’t even feel the pain in his shin from that anymore; it was like it’d happened hours ago instead of minutes.  Maintaining eye contact with Hajime, Tooru did something beneath the covers that made him inhale quickly through his nose, eyelids fluttering just a little.  Hajime was moments away from either running away or throwing up, and he wasn’t sure which.  He had so many butterflies in his stomach that he felt nauseated.

“Oikawa,” he warned, voice raspy and choked and far, far less reprimanding in tone than he’d have liked.  He tried as hard as he could to keep his eyes level with Tooru’s, but the embarrassment made it almost impossible.  “What do you think you’re doing.”

Tooru adjusted himself under his blankets again, his apparently unoccupied left hand curling by his cheek like he was about to fall asleep.  Like everything was normal and he wasn’t doing something dirty and entirely inappropriate with the right one.

“ _Oikawa_ ,” he whispered again, tone irritable in a way that he hadn’t quite managed before.  “I asked you what the hell you think you’re doing.”

“Do you mind?” Tooru asked after another second of terrible pause, a lock of hair falling across his forehead and brushing up against one of his flushed cheeks.  Hajime’s fingers twitched with the urge to either smooth it aside or push himself up so he could close the curtains and engulf the room in complete darkness.  The fact that he could _see everything_ wasn’t helping him at all.  And how was he even supposed to respond?  He hadn’t minded before, he _told_ Tooru he didn’t mind, so if he said that he minded now then Tooru wouldn’t believe him.  He’d stop doing whatever he was doing, probably, because he wasn’t a complete asshole even though Hajime wouldn’t admit that to anyone else. 

But…But.  Despite his rolling stomach, Hajime didn’t want him to stop. 

Closing his eyes, Hajime breathed in and out a few times to calm himself.  It was so much easier to hide behind the shades of his eyelids like this instead of staring the problem directly.  “You’re the worst,” he whispered, wetting his lips again.  Why were they so dry?  It was like he hadn’t been guzzling water all day and was now thoroughly parched.  “…Just.  Just don’t be loud.  The others will wake up.”

Hajime hadn’t meant anything by that beyond its face value – Tooru’d be completely, utterly fucked if someone heard and so would Hajime and they both knew that – but for some reason those words made Tooru whine under his breath like he was dying.  Hajime’s eyes snapped open.

“Shh!” he hissed, the end of it sounding choked as Hajime got a good look at Tooru’s face again.  His friend was still staring straight at him, but his eyelids weren’t low and heavy anymore; his eyes were blown wide instead, pupils dilated, his mouth parted in a silent pant.  Tooru’s cheeks, even more flushed than before, made Hajime’s own heat up in sympathy.  Or something.

He glanced down, swallowing hard as he tracked the barely visible movement of Tooru’s arm working beneath his blanket.  It wasn’t long enough to cover his toes, and Hajime could see them curling as he followed the lines of Tooru’s legs to the end of the futon.  He didn’t stop there, not for long; he couldn’t help looking back to where Tooru’s hips were beneath the bedding.  Was he touching himself under his shorts, or had he taken his dick out?  Hajime could already see him moving faster, could hear his soft breathing pick up to match the pace of his hand.

Suddenly, it occurred to Hajime that he shouldn’t be watching this at all.  Sure, Tooru apparently didn’t have any sense of self-control or normal human decency, but even though he’d asked if Hajime didn’t mind he didn’t explicitly tell Hajime that it was _okay to look_.  Shame heating his face even hotter than it already was, Hajime whipped his gaze up to meet Tooru’s and found that his friend hadn’t looked away at all.  He was staring right back, and the moment their eyes met he released another soft, shocked little sound that made Hajime’s dick twitch in his underwear.  Hajime cursed.

Scrambling to get a grip on his own blanket, he began to turn over so that he could let Tooru finish off in peace.  Before he could complete the motion, though, Tooru gasped out his name in an urgent almost-whisper. 

“Iwa-chan!  Wait!”

“ _What_ ,” he snapped back, knocking himself upside the head on the inside when his voice came out raspy and low.

“Like last time,” Tooru said, eyes searching like he was trying to get Hajime to understand what he meant without saying it out loud.  “You too.”

Hajime physically recoiled.  “What?!” he hissed, high and scandalized, “I don’t—I can’t—”

“You can,” Tooru cut him off, “ _I want_ —It’s okay, I promise.”

Hajime had to close his eyes again.  Despite what Tooru was telling him, this could never be like last time.  Last time Hajime’d been facing the other way.  Last time it was a bit darker, at least dark enough that Hajime couldn’t see the full outline of Tooru’s body underneath his blanket.  Last time they were further apart – not close enough that almost nothing was stopping Hajime from reaching out and…and doing something.  Something that he’d regret.  Something that Tooru couldn’t possibly want. 

The more Hajime told himself that this wasn’t like the last time, though, the harder it was to convince himself that he should resist.  He was so hard.  He was so fucking hard.  And last time…last time had been too good.

Shaking slightly, Hajime kept his eyes closed as he buried his own arms under his blanket like Tooru had.  Even that action – an embodiment of the decision that he was actually going through with Tooru’s request instead of turning away – made his palms go sweaty.  He was breathing hard.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru whispered, breathy and calm and a little whiny.  Placating.  Hajime wanted to be mad; he wanted to open his eyes and yell at Tooru and wake up the rest of the team just so he could watch the expression on Tooru’s face.

He didn’t, of course.  He reached down.

Slipping the fingers of his left hand under his shorts, he palmed his dick and immediately grunted at the contact.  His skin was so hot.  His own touch felt incredible.  Gripping himself a little more firmly, he stroked twice – slowly – releasing a hiss of breath through his teeth.

He almost jumped out of his skin when Tooru moaned right into his ear.  Opening his eyes, he found that his friend had shuffled even closer to him while he’d been distracted; their faces were maybe a foot away, close enough for Hajime to just barely feel Tooru’s breath on his skin.

“What are you doing?!” Hajime gasped, hand flying faster along his dick.  His heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest.

“Nothing,” Tooru whispered.  He looked like he was searching for something in Hajime’s face; looking for something that Hajime couldn’t find himself.  His mouth looked so soft.

Groaning in frustration, Hajime closed his eyes again.  He was too weak.  He worked himself harder, faster, listening to the quiet sounds that Tooru made and unwittingly committing them to memory.  They echoed far more loudly in his head, each one making his hips twitch a little more out of control and his teeth bite down harder into the flesh of his inner cheek.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.  Nothing was how it was supposed to be.  Hajime was supposed to go to school and play volleyball and do his homework and watch boring porn and think about university applications and—and not want to reach out and see how his best friend’s cock would feel in his hands.  How his best friend’s face might look if he took over for him.

Hajime was never going to last.  He came.  As he did, tremors wracking his body and dick spilling into his underwear and all over his fingers, he cracked his eyes open to get a look at Tooru’s face.  His eyes were still open.  He was still looking right at Hajime, pupils still blown wide and mouth still parted in a way that made Hajime sick to his stomach.  His expression was was something Hajime'd never seen before, something frantic and wild like he was having an epiphany.

Hajime’s chest ached.

Breathing hard, he ground his teeth together as he watched a bead of sweat slide from Tooru’s hairline to the tip of his nose.  He could barely see it; could just make out its shine under the moonlight.  He wished – with an unexpected depth and urgency – that he could see more.  That it wasn’t so dark.  That he could watch everything in horrible, perfect detail.

“C’mon, Oikawa,” he whispered.  Tooru gasped, breath startling faster through his parted lips, left hand gripping tightly at his pillow.  His legs curled beneath his blanket, pulling up closer to his chest before thrashing out into a new position.  He chewed at his lip, eyes squeezing tight, and came silently. 

Hajime had to clench his own hands into fists to keep from reaching out.  His dick throbbed in his ruined underwear.  Without allowing himself to watch Tooru come down from his orgasm, Hajime threw his blanket off to the side and clamored to his feet as quickly and quietly as he could.  Turning his back to Tooru and palming his crotch for a moment, he could feel his face twist up to match the desperation and guilt that were blooming in his chest.

Without leaving any room for thought, Hajime crept to the exit and closed the door behind him carefully.  He practically ran to the boys’ bathroom.  Just as he was about to enter, though, he made a snap decision out of fear: he stumbled away and into the girls’ instead.  He didn’t want Tooru to follow him.  He didn’t even want Tooru to look at him, not like _this_ , not when Hajime was flushed and panicked and wiping drying come off his legs.  Wiping drying come off his legs that got there because Hajime’d got off on _him_ getting off.

Hajime couldn’t even hide it this time.  Not to himself at least.  Not enough to calm himself down.

Why had Tooru told him it was okay?  Why had Hajime listened?  Had it been a dare of some kind?  A way for Tooru to push and see how far he could get Hajime to go?  Hajime’d done it last time; had this been a test? 

Tooru knew.  He somehow knew that Hajime hadn’t cared about Tooru getting off because—because ‘care’ wasn’t the right word.  He hadn’t cared.  He’d wanted it.

Why the _fuck_ had Hajime wanted it.

Refraining from the urge to shout, Hajime instead rested his forehead against the cool bathroom mirror and let cold water run over his hands.  He stared at his reflection, exhaustion settling in and making him get a bit lost in the depth of his own pupils.

Well.  There was nothing he could do about any of it now.  Not at training camp.  Not when they had to focus on beating Shiratorizawa and making it to nationals.  Not now.

Hajime dried his hands and made the slow trek back to his futon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iiiiiiii'm sorry, did you think they might use big boy words to talk about their feelings this time? HA


	4. third year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO HI i'm very sorry that this chapter took so damn long to post but here we go!!! hope you're ready for 7k of hajime panicking and trying his best.

 

Hajime scrutinized his reflection in the mirror of his upstairs bathroom, eyes tracking the lines of his face and neck.  It wasn’t something he did often – look at himself closely.  He put in the effort to appear presentable each school day, of course, that wasn’t it; he just didn’t usually take the time to notice how his features changed from year to year.  To really notice the way that he’d lost the roundness of his cheeks or the awkward knobbiness of his elbows and knees or how he’d broadened in the jawline and shoulders.  To notice how he didn’t look like a kid anymore.  It had all been a distant acknowledgement before, an objective awareness that he was older.  It hadn’t been something he’d thought about much.

Something about turning 18 a couple of months ago had changed that.

Or, well.  That was at least one way to put it.

Not that he thought he looked like an adult now—not really, anyway.  It wasn’t like turning 18 and crossing the arbitrary delineation between childhood and adulthood actually manifested itself in something more than a gradual awareness of puberty’s long-promised departure.  He definitely didn’t _feel_ different in certain ways.  His skin was still a little rough sometimes; still broke out when he forgot to wash right away after exercising and sometimes for no reason at all.  He still couldn’t grow a full beard.  He’d put on more muscle compared to last year and was fully prepared to destroy anyone bold enough to challenge him in an arm wrestling match, but he hadn’t managed to grow more than a few millimeters in height.  He’d probably have to give up on the idea of closing the gap between himself and Tooru in that way.

Well.  Probably in other ways, too.  Now that was something that _had_ changed.

Hajime didn’t remember a time when he’d had a problem looking at Tooru.  He didn’t remember a time when he noticed how Tooru’d changed either, or when it’d suddenly become difficult to think about anything other than how he suddenly _did_ notice.  He supposed that it had something to do with the fact that they’d grown up alongside each other with no breaks in between; with no breathing room at all.  Just as Hajime never really noticed himself growing year to year beyond those first armpit hairs or back zits or how his mother grumbled about having to buy him new gym shoes again, he hadn’t fully noticed Tooru growing either in any capacity beyond his height or skill in volleyball.  Maybe if Hajime’s family had moved away for a few years; maybe if Tooru had gone to camp without him during the summers; maybe if Hajime hadn’t been such a late bloomer when it came to…well.  Maybe then Hajime would have some gap in their shared timeline that his brain would have to catch up on.  Maybe then he would have noticed earlier.  Maybe then he would have been prepared.

Hajime hadn’t been prepared.

Scowling, he bent down to splash his face with cold water for what must have been the third time in the past hour.  It was still hot, despite it being evening.  He was still sweating.  It was still summer (barely) and he still had a few more months before he’d have to apply for university.  He still had twenty minutes before he was expecting Tooru to show up at his door for a sleepover, just like they did every last weekend of summer break.

He was still anticipating something that wasn’t actually going to happen. 

Grinding his teeth and slapping at his cheeks a bit in a hopeless effort to pull himself together, he paced across the bathroom floor before heaving out a frustrated growl and stomping to his bedroom.  He glared at his computer from where it sat on his desk.

There wasn’t any point in this.  Nothing was going to happen tonight and Hajime would laugh at himself later.  There wasn’t any point in worrying about it or _preparing_ for it, whatever that meant, or—

Well.  He only had so much self-control.

Collapsing into his desk chair, he snatched his laptop from the charger and carefully angled himself so that if anyone (his mom, who was supposed to be away at her sister’s for the weekend—or worse, Tooru, if he came over earlier than planned) happened to barge in, they wouldn’t be able to see what was on his screen.  Even so, Hajime glanced at the wall behind him to confirm that there was in fact a wall there.

There was.  Of course.

He didn’t know why he was so paranoid.  It wasn’t like he hadn’t done this before.

Hajime thought he’d had everything figured out years ago.  It hadn’t mattered that he never had a crush on a girl like his friends did; like they talked about having _all the time_ even though it was boring and Hajime didn’t get what the big deal was.  It hadn’t mattered that he never pictured himself with anyone romantically or sexually or whatever, or that the only people he’d kissed were a few girls from his class two years ago at a dumb party.  They’d been fine.  Nothing special.  He hadn’t hated it, but he hadn’t loved it either.  It _hadn’t mattered_.  None of it had mattered, and Hajime’d just figured that either everyone else was overselling it or that he’d finally realize what he was missing some day.

Hajime’d been missing something, as it turned out.

Even though Hajime thought he’d been somewhere well off on the other side of the puberty train tracks already, _even though_ he was older and stronger and the proportions of his limbs finally made sense, he felt himself walking backwards.  Maybe he’d never cleared the tracks in the first place, he guessed.  Maybe somehow, despite the growth spurts and sweaty pits and embarrassing public erections of years past and the fact that he was _18 years old_ , he’d been standing _right in the middle_ the entire time.  Maybe that’s why the train had hit him square in the face like it did.

And what an obnoxious fucking train it was.

It was strange to suddenly be overwhelmed by the feelings that he was _supposed_ to have experienced already, at least according to everyone else he knew; to suddenly be completely and irreversibly distracted by dumb things like Tooru’s calves or his wrists or some other mundane body part that hadn’t mattered before.  To get flushed and nervous when they stood too close together.  To get horny at practice for no good reason; to have to be careful not to let his eyes stray from Tooru’s face when they changed.

It was new.  It was too much.  Hajime _hated it_.

Clicking systematically through badly lit dick pics on some shitty website one by one, Hajime tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes.  Was he supposed to think they were…good-looking now?  Appealing?  Anything more than just dicks?  He didn’t feel much of anything at all just by looking at them.  Not like he felt when he and Tooru had—well.  Was he supposed to be turned on by dicks alone, since he was apparently turned on by the _idea_ of Tooru’s?  He stared at one particularly veiny one for so long it didn’t even look like a penis anymore and instead started to morph into something from one of Tooru’s foreign sci-fi flicks.  He shook his head back and forth to clear the image from his brain.

He really didn’t know why he was trying this again.  Nothing had changed since the last time he tried, and the last time hadn’t been any different than all the times before.  He couldn’t seem to make sense of anything more than he already had.

Not that Hajime expected much from staring at two-dimensional, disembodied penises. 

Hajime’d watched actual porn before, of course, if ‘watch’ meant aimlessly shuffle through poorly made videos out of curiosity only to become frustrated when nothing actually got him off.  He’d sit there, hand on his dick, and wait for something to get him going.  Sometimes a certain noise or angle would make his belly flood with heat; sometimes the crease of a girl’s waist or the angle of her neck would catch his eye.  Sometimes the guy would be particularly athletic or have a nice back that Hajime wasn’t sure whether he was jealous of or really, really into.  He’d watched proper gay porn too after the second incident with Tooru in their first year of senior high, but he’d still ended up more frustrated than turned on.  He’d just always preferred jerking it without thinking about or watching anything in particular, instead focusing on the feel of his own body.

Well.  Most of the time, at least.

He could admit to himself that that’d changed a little after the second time that Hajime had…an unexpected experience with Tooru, if he could even count that first time in junior high as something he had _with_ Tooru.

The second time, though.  The second time, he’d—Hajime’d encouraged him.  Tooru knew he was awake.  Tooru knew that Hajime didn’t care.  Tooru knew Hajime’d come too.  His friend hadn’t even been that freaked out about it, or at least Hajime assumed he hadn’t been because then they’d gone and done it again at training camp the following year.  It’d felt—well, nothing like looking at strangers’ dicks felt at least.  Nothing like masturbating on his own, and that was another point of contention that’d been bothering him for months:

Hajime wasn’t sure what counted as losing your virginity. 

When he was much younger he’d always supposed that it meant full-on, health education-style sex with a girl, the kind where you ran the risk of getting someone pregnant.  That couldn’t possibly be it, but even at 18 he wasn’t sure where the line was or whether it even mattered.  It had to involve _touching_ someone else at the very least, right?  It must.  Despite that, though, he’d definitely felt different after the second night with Tooru (and _especially_ after the third).  They’d been _facing each other_ for fuck’s sake.  Hajime knew what kind of face Tooru made when he came.  That had to count for something.

But…just because it’d happened before didn’t mean anything for the future.  Hajime had to figure this out without Tooru.  They were third years.  They were leaving.  They would—Hajime couldn’t expect anything.  Nothing would happen, and even if it did (fucking hell, Hajime, _pull yourself together_ ) then it wouldn’t amount to anything more than it had the last time and then Tooru would be leaving for fucking Tokyo or some shit and then it would be _too late_ and Hajime _would never_ —

Closing his eyes against the glare of his screen, he exited his browser and put his head in his hands.  He had to get a grip.  Nothing had happened since training camp the year before; the world hadn’t come crashing down then (or at least in any tangible way outside of Hajime’s masturbation habits), and it wouldn’t come crashing down now.  Tooru was just fucking weird, as always, and probably a bit of an exhibitionist.  Unsurprising.  Hajime didn’t have any reason to believe that it had something to do with _him_ specifically.  Hajime didn’t have any reason to believe that something would happen tonight.  Sure, it had happened more times than would ever be explicable already, but they’d had sleepovers since the last incident and Tooru didn’t do anything.  Or say anything.  Or act in any way different from how he always had, while Hajime had to slowly get used to the fact that he wanted to touch his best friend’s dick.  And maybe—maybe see what kissing him felt like.  And maybe—

Fuck.

Tugging at his own hair, Hajime slammed his laptop closed and set it back on the desk.  He couldn’t keep thinking about it.  He couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it either, he’d fucking _tried_ that already and look where that got him, but he had to distract himself before Tooru showed up. 

He didn’t get the chance.

“Iwa-chan!  You better not be asleep already, you old man, it’s not even dark yet!”

Hajime took a deep breath and massaged his temples as he heard the slam of his front door and the sound of Tooru clamoring up the stairs.  It only took three more seconds before his bedroom door flung open and Tooru was there, a smug grin immediately taking over his features when he got a look at Hajime’s scowl.  Hajime knew he looked out of sorts; he just hoped Tooru didn’t also notice how difficult it was for him to meet his eyes.

“See?  I knew I was right to worry!  You already look ready to call it a night.  But don’t worry, grandpa, I’ve got plenty to keep us busy,” he teased, striding forward to pinch Hajime’s nose between his fingers with one hand while passing over a heap of old DVDs with the other.  Hajime snarled, slapping him away as best he could while not dropping the discs on the floor.  They watched the same four shitty horror films at the same time every year without fail, each one more terrible and low-budget than the last.  Tooru always brought his entire collection just in case they ever wanted to mix it up.

(They never did.)

Hajime quickly deposited their entertainment for the evening onto the floor so he could aggressively ruffle Tooru’s hair.  His friend cackled, clasping at Hajime’s wrists with both hands to get him to stop.  Tooru held his arms there afterwards, right near their shoulders, and Hajime had to practice his breathing exercises so he wouldn’t flush at the way Tooru looked down at him.

Two minutes in and Hajime was already losing it.  That wouldn’t do.

“C’mon, get settled,” he grunted, pulling himself free and pressing Tooru down into the pile of cushions he’d already set up on the floor.  He grabbed the first DVD off the pile without looking, already sure that Tooru would have put the right one on top.  He had. 

Hajime was grateful for the distraction.  It was easy to settle into their routine, Tooru stuffing gummies into his mouth by the half dozen while digging his nails into Hajime’s arm hard enough to hurt for each jump scare.  He knew exactly when they were going to happen, they’d watched each movie at least a dozen times before, but clearly liked to make Hajime yelp at the pain.  Asshole.

It wasn’t long before Hajime’s room grew dark and Hajime began to sweat more than the temperature in his house called for.  He told himself he didn’t know why.  He told himself that it wasn’t out of anticipation, because nothing good could come from him anticipating anything.

It wasn’t too far after midnight – usually the time when they’d switch from movies to recorded volleyball matches or video games – but Tooru gave an exaggerated yawn when Hajime reached for his console. 

“What?” he asked, tilting his head back to where Tooru was lying curled up next to a fan.  Its breeze moved gently through his hair, his eyes shut against the current. 

“Iwa-chan should get his beauty rest instead of straining his eyes some more,” Tooru said mockingly, voice affected like the rest of their team was in the room and he was trying to get them to gang up on him.  Not that it ever worked; it was far easier to get everyone to tease Tooru instead. 

“Like you’re in a position to criticize me about that,” Hajime scoffed, and then held a hand up when Tooru opened his mouth to continue.  “And let me guess—it’s different because I _need_ my beauty rest and you don’t, right?” he snorted, abandoning the console the sitting back down on his cushion.

“It’s no fun if you steal my thunder, you know,” Tooru sighed, although he clearly wasn’t put out.  The light from the TV screen made the angles of his face stand out strangely.  Hajime looked away.

“You’re the one who’s tired anyway, Oikawa.  I’m surprised.  Usually you’re the one pushing for us to stay up later.”

“Not tonight,” Tooru said, his voice calm but pitched in a way that Hajime couldn’t interpret.  The words sounded oddly suggestive to Hajime, although he assumed that was because he couldn’t help but want them to be.

“Alright.  At least get your ass up and help me roll out your futon,” he mumbled, a little unnerved.  He couldn’t help but to feel some degree of guilty expectation even though Tooru really did look a bit tired.  Nothing was going to happen.  Nothing was going to happen, he repeated to himself, stepping over to Tooru and nudging at him with his toes.  Tooru was going to sleep on the guest futon and Hajime was going to sleep in his own bed and the emphasis would be on the word _sleep_.

Tooru reached out and snagged his ankle before Hajime could get very far, tilting his head up so he could meet Hajime’s eyes.  Hajime tried not to flinch away.

“Iwa-channn,” he whined, “Let’s just share!  I’m too lazy to roll out the futon and we’re not going to have too many more nights like this, you know,” he said pointedly.  Hajime flushed and turned away, even though he knew that Tooru was referencing the fact that they were third years.  That it was only a handful of months before they applied to universities; only a few more after that before they’d know just how far apart they would be.  Until Hajime had to come to terms with not being able to hang out together all the time anymore. 

At least then Hajime might be able to get over this. 

“Fine, you sentimental ass,” he grunted, feigning nonchalance and mostly succeeding.  “I’m gonna shower first, though.  It’s too fucking hot.  Don’t take up the whole bed or else I’ll kick you to the floor.”  His palms were sweating.  Tooru’s hand was still on his ankle.

Yanking himself away, Hajime walked to the same bathroom he’d lost his mind in earlier that day and took the coldest shower of his life.  He scrubbed at his hair mercilessly, trying to take out his anxiety and frustration on washing away the summer sweat.  He was pathetic.  Nothing was going to happen.  _Nothing was going to happen_.

He really, really wanted something to happen.

Heart racing faster than Hajime permitted it to, he rinsed out his shampoo and tilted his face into the stream of water.  It was freezing; he had to force himself not to flinch away when the temperature migrated from ‘relief’ to ‘fucking tundra’.

Quickly finishing up without letting himself think too hard or wash himself too carefully (for the most part, anyway), he stepped out and toweled himself off.  This was just a normal night, he mouthed to himself in the mirror, drying his hair as quickly as he could.  A normal weekend.  He was going to walk into his room to find Tooru passed out on his bed, right in the fucking middle because he was an asshole, long arms and legs spread out and bare and a little sweaty and—

Hajime was a goddamned fool.

Not letting himself stall any longer, Hajime briskly opened the bathroom door and walked back into his bedroom.

It was just as he suspected.

Deliberately throwing his towel into his laundry basket instead of staring at Tooru’s muscled thighs where they peeked out from under a sheet, Hajime made his way over to the bed.  Everything was fine.  He laid down after a second of hesitation, shifting until he found a comfortable position facing _away_ from Tooru and his absurdly long legs.  Since when did Hajime care about things like that?  Since when did _legs_ mean anything to him, let alone Tooru’s?  Tooru would laugh at him if he knew.  They’d grown up together since they were toddlers. 

They were just legs.  Tooru was just Tooru.  Everything was fine, and Hajime would be able to figure things out on his own in university.

The room was still and silent for about 20 painful seconds before Tooru shifted closer.

“Hajime?” he asked in the dark, voice soft and strange like it’d been the year before.  Hajime’s stomach felt ready to leap out of his throat, which was less than ideal.

Everything was fine.  He was 18, and Tooru was just his childhood friend, and Hajime was fine.

“Yeah?” he croaked out without an inch of finesse.

Tooru placed a warm palm on Hajime’s bare back, skin still slightly cool and damp from his shower.  Hajime flinched despite himself, violently enough that Tooru pulled back as if he’d been burned.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, not very sorry.  “What’s up?”

“Are you actually tired?” Tooru’s voice came again, perhaps from a little farther away than before.  He must have backed off.  That meant he was anticipating Hajime to get angry at something.  Despite his anxiety, Hajime’s eyebrow twitched.

“I’m not the one who said it was time for bed,” he forced out through his teeth. 

Tooru snuffled a little in the dark, his feet shifting across the sheets to nudge Hajime’s own.  His toes were ice cold despite the heat.  “So you’re not tired?”

What a piece of shit.  Hajime turned over roughly, prepared to poke Tooru firmly in the middle of his forehead and call him out for his indecisiveness.  He paused just a second when he found his friend lying closer than expected, but still managed to follow through with the motion.

Tooru whined, one hand wrapping around Hajime’s offending finger and the other reaching up to rub his head.  “Iwa-chan!  Why!”

“You’re the one awake and talking when you wanted to sleep, asshole!  If you wanted to stay up, why didn’t you say something earlier?”

Tooru stopped rubbing at his head but didn’t drop Hajime’s finger.  Hajime wanted to pull away, but he couldn’t make himself.  How was he supposed to?

The whites of Tooru’s eyes shone softly with the dim light of the moon.  He was looking at Hajime carefully, teeth clearly worrying at the inside of his cheek.  A nervous habit.  Hajime couldn’t help but to stare at his mouth.  His lips were smooth, as far as he could tell; they never really got chapped like Hajime’s did.  Tooru was always carrying lip balm to school and practice, always teasing Hajime for not taking better care of himself despite Hajime’s cry of hypocrisy.  Now, though, Hajime wished he’d listened.  The thought came unbidden and unwanted; how Tooru’s lips might feel against his own.  Whether it’d feel different from the kisses he’d had before.  There was no point in imagining something that’d never happen, though—it was one thing to come to terms with the idea that he might find his obnoxious, aggravating best friend attractive, but it was another to start getting ideas about anything like that. 

Hajime was so busy staring and getting angry at himself for staring that it was a surprise when Tooru’s mouth started to move, his words low and just a little shaky in the darkness.

“Maybe I wanted to do something else.”

Hajime’s eyes snapped up to Tooru’s.  He blushed hard, his consciousness grasping uselessly in an endless reel of confused static.  “H-huh?” he half-spluttered, finger twitching in Tooru’s grip.  It was going to be sweaty enough soon to slip away easily.  He could feel his eyes grow wide despite himself, the butterflies in his stomach swooping heavily as he scrambled to find a solution more logical than the one he hoped for.

‘Hoped’ maybe wasn’t the right word, though.  Hajime felt almost sick; like he was about to give a book report he wasn’t prepared for.  Like he got offered a job that he wasn’t qualified for, but one that he wanted anyway.

“What do you mean?” he tried again when Tooru didn’t say anything further.  His eyes shifted rapidly between Tooru’s, trying desperately to see something that might explain what his friend was thinking.  He couldn’t find it.  Finally, after several long seconds in which Hajime was sure he was going to combust, Tooru responded.

“Hmm.  Maybe I do want to watch something after all.”

His gut sank with disappoint.  Hajime was an idiot.  He almost groaned out loud, his hand yanking away from Tooru’s so he could scrub at his face.  What the fuck had he been thinking.  Of course Tooru meant that he wanted to get back up; that he wasn’t actually ready to go to bed.  This was why Hajime couldn’t indulge himself in useless fantasy.  This was why it was for the best that they went their separate ways after high school.  This was why Hajime didn’t need to bother with figuring things out right now, because Tooru already had things figured out himself.  This was why Hajime didn’t—

“I mean—I mean unless you had any other ideas?”

Hajime paused.  His hand stilled in his hair before falling away from his face entirely, his mouth slowly twitching out of the grimace that it’d crawled into.  What could that mean?  Was he hedging, trying to see whether Hajime would bring up what had happened last year?  They hadn’t talked about it.  Maybe Tooru wanted to, although Hajime couldn’t imagine what that conversation would be like.  The more likely option, the option that Hajime focused on, was that Tooru really had changed his mind about staying up longer and didn’t want to be the only one awake.

He didn’t have time for this.

“Oikawa, just spit it out.  I’m not going to stay up and try to figure out what you want from me.”

Tooru winced, which made Hajime feel a little bad.  He had to stop reacting based on his own frustration; it wasn’t Tooru’s fault that Hajime was losing it.  Well.  Except for how it was.  Frowning, he waited as Tooru shifted around a little, his hands curling up in front of him and digging into the sheets.  He was looking at Hajime just as hard as Hajime was looking at him in some kind of silent stand-off.

Why was Tooru so fucking complicated?  Why couldn’t Hajime stop interpreting his words and actions as something that might refer to what they’d done together?

“ _Fine_ ,” he snapped, “I’m just gonna pick a game and you’re gonna have to play it.  No complaints since you aren’t actually telling me what you do want, ok?  C’mon—” he began, one arm bracing himself so he could get up and head toward the console.  He wasn’t tired now anyway.  If Tooru wanted to get back up then it was fine.

Before he could get anywhere, Tooru reached an arm out and pulled him back down.  Hajime bounced a little with the force, his arm coming up to grip Tooru’s so he wouldn’t become totally unbalanced.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru breathed, voice sounding a little desperate and hard-edged.  “I—Can we just lay here instead?”

Hajime blinked.  “Just lay here?” 

Tooru hmm’d out a soft sound of agreement, his hand shifting from Hajime’s elbow to his wrist.  Hajime settled down, swallowing heavily at the contact and at the implication.  They were closer than they had been before; Hajime could almost see his individual eyelashes despite the darkness.

“And maybe try something?” Tooru continued, his tone gently imploring like Hajime was a startled horse.  Maybe he was.  He definitely felt like running away.

He had to swallow twice more before he had any hopes of responding.

“Uh, sure,” he managed.  That sick almost-hope was starting to bubbling up in his stomach again.  Hajime tried not to let it, but it was just so much easier to not resist.

Tooru licked his lips before speaking.  “I was thinking—”

“Uh-oh.”

“ _Iwa-chan_ , you meanie, I—I was just thinking about training camp.”

Hajime wasn’t sure how it was physically possible to yo-yo between enraged self-disappointment and embarrassing anticipation so quickly and so many times in succession.

“What about it?” he tried.  There was no way he was going to assume anything and do something he’d regret.  Tooru could be two seconds away from a rant about one of them going up against Ushijima in university even since they’d missed their chance in high school or about Yahaba’s mysterious love life or about one of a million other things that didn’t involve their dicks.

“Iwa-chan, don’t make me say it.”

Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck.

“Say what?”

“ _Iwa-chan_.”

“ _Oikawa_.”

Tooru snarled, a hand reaching out of the dark to rest against the side of Hajime’s neck.  Hajime nearly rolled off the mattress in shock, one of his own hands digging deeper into Tooru’s arm where he’d apparently never let go.

“I want to touch you this time,” Tooru spat out like the words pained him.  He immediately recoiled, his hand leaving Hajime’s neck to kind of hover in the air between them.  His eyes went wide and round, his expression wavering between surprise and determination.

It took several moments before Hajime could breathe.  Finally, though, his instincts kicked in and he was filled with the sort of easy calm that always washed over him when there was an opportunity to poke fun at Tooru.

“Don’t look so shocked, you idiot, you’re the one that said it.”

It worked.  Tooru’s face immediately twisted into petulant defense, his hand dropping back to Hajime’s neck.

“Hey!  At least I said something at all!  You’re no help, pretending like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Hajime flushed.  This couldn’t possibly be happening.

“Yeah, well.  I couldn’t be sure.”  His mouth was completely dry; he tried to at least keep his voice from shaking.  He was embarrassed enough already.

Tooru huffed, his hand gripping Hajime a little tighter as he shifted until their bodies were just a couple of inches away.  His thumb slid until it could rest against Hajime’s jawline.  It was almost painful to be so close; Hajime didn’t know where to look or what to do with himself.  Thankfully Tooru also looked slightly uncertain.  Just enough to ease Hajime’s own nerves.

“Can I?” he asked after a few more awkward moments of silence, thumb still burning on Hajime’s jaw. 

“Yeah,” Hajime started, voice cracking, but intercepted Tooru before he could reach for Hajime’s shorts.  It was possibly one of the most difficult things he’d ever done, but—

 “Oikawa, I—” he tried.  He couldn’t just—he couldn’t just let them do whatever they were going to do like this.  He wanted to so fucking badly, but he couldn’t—he couldn’t—

“Oikawa, I need to know what you’re thinking,” he said.  “I need to know what you want from me.” 

Tooru smirked.  He nudged even closer, their noses brushing.  “I want you to touch me too, Iwa-chan.  Obviously.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Hajime spluttered, thoroughly embarrassed by Tooru’s gall, his voice far too loud for how near they were to one another.  His cheeks were so hot that Hajime wouldn’t be surprised if he could cook an egg on them.  Tooru cackled.  “Shut up.  I meant – I meant what do you want after.  After this.  After tonight.”

Tooru’s expression shifted into something much more serious.  Fuck.  Hajime shouldn’t have asked.  He should have just been grateful for what he was about to get, whatever that was.  He shouldn’t have pushed.  Tooru was going to be confused; he was going to ask Hajime what he meant and Hajime didn’t think he had the guts to explain.  Especially when he didn’t really know himself.

“I want us to get a place together after we graduate,” he said finally, firmly, pulling Hajime out of his own head.  “I don’t care if we’re at the same university or not, ok?  But I want to live together.  Iwa-chan, you know I can’t room with some terrible, unhygienic brat anyway!  What if I go to the same school as Ushiwaka, huh?  What then?  What am I supposed to do then, Iwa-chan?  What if, what if—”

Hajime snorted, all the tension that’d been building inside him for the past two years crumbling away into nothing.  He felt like a massive weight had been relieved from his shoulders; like maybe he wasn’t the only one who’d been struggling with this.  His snort quickly turned into a laugh that shook his whole body, the sound causing Tooru to flinch away in horror.

“Don’t laugh at me!  Iwa-chan!  This is important!  What if he sleeps with socks on?  What if he tries to go jogging with me every morning?  What if he steals my _clothes?!_ ”

Hajime gasped for breath, eyes watering uncontrollably.  “Idiot!  You don’t even know if you’re going to the same school as him!  You haven’t even submitted any applications!  You clearly don’t even wear the same size as him, what are you talking about—”

“ _Iwa-chan_.  It’s possible.  Anything is possible, ok?  He’s probably intercepting my mail just to see where I might be applying!  He’s probably—”

Hajime leaned forward, pressing his mouth clumsily to Tooru’s.  The effect was as intended; Tooru choked and quieted, his hands scrabbling to find Hajime’s face in the dark and his breath puffing out warm against Hajime’s upper lip.  Hajime quickly became overwhelmed at the contact, his confidence melting into inexperienced hesitancy.  This was nothing like the kisses he’d had before; nothing like how Hajime’d imagined it, either.  None of that mattered as soon as Tooru began to move against him, though.  He didn’t have to think about it.  He didn’t have to think about anything other than the soft of Tooru’s mouth or the way he was clinging to Hajime like he couldn’t believe they were actually touching like this.  Tooru pressed even closer with a low noise, their legs tangling until Hajime could work a thigh between Tooru’s.  His gut kept clenching in hot, heavy pulses, the warmth pooling straight down to his groin. 

Hajime tried to back off a little when things started feeling too good too quickly, but Tooru wasn’t having it.  It was nearly impossible to focus; his thumbs had found their way into the dip of Tooru’s neck right below his jaw and he couldn’t help pressing in until Tooru whined and swallowed hard against him.  They were both breathing fast, gasping in humid air and then reconnecting wetly again and again until Hajime was so hard he was sure he was going to come just from the weight of Tooru’s hips against his and the way Tooru’s lower lip kept catching against his teeth.

“Fuck,” he gasped, pulling away to try and clear his head.  “Do you still—I mean do you still want to—”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Tooru babbled, greedy hands immediately pulling Hajime back in until their tongues could slide together.  Hajime’s stomach rolled again; he kept making embarrassing noises into Tooru’s mouth every time Tooru’s fingers gripped his hair too tightly but it was fine because Tooru was making them too.

“Can we,” he tried again, pushing Tooru back so he could talk.  “I want to—to touch you still,” he finished weakly, words ground out between them in a tone that made Tooru laugh a little hysterically.

“Iwa-chan, you poor thing.  Let me help you—”

“Hey!  What’s that supposed to mean!”

“Well, we both know that don’t exactly have any _experience_ in this and I—”

“Oh what, and you do?  Huh?”

Tooru flushed and made a little warbly noise.  “Well _fine_ , so maybe I don’t either but you can’t tell anyone that, ok?!  Listen to me, Iwa-chan – stop _laughing_ – I have a reputation to uphold, you know!”

Hajime rolled his eyes as soon as he could breathe again.  “Your I’ve-only-ever-kept-a-girlfriend-for-a-week-at-a-time reputation, you mean?”

“ _Iwa-chan_ ,” Tooru hissed, scandalized, “Well maybe I wasn’t—maybe I didn’t know—”

“It’s fine,” Hajime pressed against his mouth, leaning forward until he could cup his hands around Tooru’s cheeks.  “It’s okay.”

Tooru leaned into the touch, hands fluttering down Hajime’s bare sides until his fingers found the band of Hajime’s athletic shorts.  Hajime’s hips jerked in anticipation, his dick leaking against the fabric of his underwear.  Fuck.  Tooru was actually going to—he was going to—

And then he did, long fingers pulling Hajime’s dick out while another hand shoved both layers down to his knees.  Hajime shouted, hands gripping Tooru’s t-shirt tightly as he gasped out wet breaths against Tooru’s chin.  It felt almost nothing like touching himself, somehow.  How could the same movements feel so different when it was someone else’s hand?  Tooru jerked him fast and hard after a few seconds of clumsy hesitation, each upstroke making Hajime’s eyes water and his hips jerk forward helplessly.  He wasn’t going to last.  He couldn’t—he could come without touching Tooru, though.  He couldn’t—

“Oikawa—Tooru, fuck, I can’t—”

“No, no, no—not yet!  C’mon Iwa-chan,” Tooru gasped, hand pulling away from Hajime’s dick.  Hajime groaned, his teeth finding purchase on the sweaty skin of Tooru’s neck as he tried to grind closer.  He was so fucking close.  He was _so fucking close_.

“What—what are you—”

Tooru pushed Hajime away so that he could yank off his shirt and throw it across the room.  It hit the wall with a soft thud, probably sliding down to join a pile of Hajime’s own dirty laundry that he kept meaning to do but couldn’t bring himself to.  He wiggled out of his own shorts afterwards, and then suddenly he was pressed against Hajime skin-to-skin.

It was immediately too much.  Hajime choked on his next inhale, breath stuttering painfully in his chest as Tooru groaned into the air between them and clenched his hand around both their dicks.  Too tight.  Not tightly enough.  He pulled them fast together, and Hajime scrambled to reach between them so he could touch too.  Tooru’s skin was impossibly hot; his dick weeping steadily onto Hajime’s own as pre-come pooled between their stomachs.  It should have been gross.  It really, really should have been gross.

It was possibly the least-gross thing Hajime could think of.

Hooking his thumb into Tooru’s mouth to drag him down for another kiss, Hajime used the other hand to help jerk them off until Tooru was moaning steadily and pushing him away.  He slotted their hips together instead, and from there it was too easy for Hajime to pull Tooru on top of him and grind until they were both incapable of doing much more than mouthing weakly at each other’s necks.  It didn’t take long before they were coming, loudly and one after the other.  Hajime tilted his face so that they could kiss again, even though it was nearly impossible to kiss Tooru while he cried out.

Pulling away to try and regain some sense of composure, Hajime panted heavily up at the ceiling as his chest heaved against Tooru’s.  Tooru’d gone completely limp after the shockwaves of his organism calmed, and their bodies quickly became plastered together by a mixture of sweat and come that Hajime knew they had to wash off before they fell asleep.  The task sounded impossible; Tooru was soft and warm and heavy above him and Hajime was possibly in shock.

Oblivious to Hajime’s disbelief, Tooru let out a heavy sigh of contentment and shimmied down until his face was resting against a dry, cool patch of sheets next to Hajime’s neck. 

“You’re disgusting, Iwa-chan.  You came all over me.”

Hajime was glad Tooru couldn’t see the way his cheeks flared with heat at the words.

“You too, dipshit.”

Tooru snorted.  “Yeah.  I did.”

“Let’s go,” Hajime said, using a brief window of composure to roll Tooru off of him and stumble to his feet.  “Shower.  And new sheets.  No fucking way am I sleeping in that.”

Tooru flailed, limbs scrambling to find purchase so he wouldn’t fall off the bed entirely and onto the floor.  Hajime steadied him, gripping both of his elbows and pulling until they were standing upright.  One of Hajime’s fans blew blessedly cool air onto his skin, the temperature difference making him shiver a bit despite the August humidity.  Tooru grinned down at him, arms wrapping around Hajime’s neck and eyes tracking the scowl that turned down his lips.

“You know, I really thought that you were going to pretend like you didn’t know what I was talking about back then,” he mumbled, expression oddly soft.  Hajime wasn’t used to seeing him so close up yet, at least now that they’d…well.  Even though they’d already done considerably more than stand together like this, Hajime was quickly finding himself overwhelmed.  He felt kind of weird, too—things with Tooru were probably going to be a little weird in general for a while, because of _course_ they were, but not necessarily a bad weird.

Hajime really wanted to kiss him again.

“Yeah, well I’m not the perverted one that couldn’t wait to jerk off until _after_ training camp was over.  You know I heard you that time in junior high too, right?  Seriously, Oikawa, on my _guest futon_.”

Tooru wailed in despair as he collapsed against Hajime, arms tightening dangerously around his neck.  “You heard me that time?!  I really didn’t mean to, you know, it just happened!  I couldn’t help it!”

“ _Bullshit!_ ” Hajime growled, wrestling out of Tooru’s hold and flicking his nose.

Tooru scoffed, tilting his chin up and to the side.  He clearly couldn’t stop himself from smiling, though, which somewhat lessened the effect.  “Well, fine.  Maybe I was hoping you’d hear me.”

“That’s more like it.”

Hajime didn’t consider what that might sound like, so he was caught off guard when Tooru’s eyes snapped to his and his soft smile transformed into something much smarmier.

“Hmm?  More like it, huh?  I knew Iwa-chan was into it,” he teased, hands finding his hips.  Hajime swallowed heavily, scowling to cover his embarrassment.

“Shut up.  You’re the pervert, _end of story_.”

Tooru laughed and his smirk melted back into a real, non-infuriating smile that didn’t help to relieve Hajime’s embarrassment even a little bit.  “Next time, Iwa-chan.  We’ll see about that.”

Hajime scowled and pushed him away, stomping to the shower as Tooru tried to catch up.

Next time, huh?  Well.  Hajime supposed he could handle that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hooray!! what an unexpected monster of a fic!!! i just want to say a big THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to everyone who's been supporting me in this endeavor; i honestly enjoyed every moment. much of iwaizumi's belabored internal monologue in the final chap was inspired by my own experiences with sexuality, so 100 extra thanks for humoring me on that too.
> 
> one final note--i know i left things kind of ambiguous re: their relationship status, but look...there was only so much embarrassing, stilted conversation that i (and the boys) could handle. they live happily ever after etc etc etc.
> 
> thanks for reading!! xxx

**Author's Note:**

> here we go friends, buckle up. you're gonna have to hold your breath until the very end.
> 
> hmu on [tumblr](https://fullybackfired.tumblr.com/)


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